


Before You Die

by stigmatasis



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Abandonment, Alcohol, Bars, Crossdresser, Crossdressing, Established Relationship, M/M, Placebo - Freeform, Regret, Scorn, Waiter, singer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 07:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15990077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stigmatasis/pseuds/stigmatasis
Summary: Gerard's throat was dry as he spoke. "Hey," he uttered lightly, a word that flew in upon the wings of a dove carrying an olive branch, slipping from his mouth as he awaited a reply from his little brother, who was not as little as Gerard had liked to think he was.*Frank Iero, a lonely waiter with a freshly broken heart, spent the next two years after a fateful day in 1996 living in denial and tending to his internal wounds when the doubt became too much for him to live with. It's 1998, Gerard's back again, and as Fate would have it, their story has yet to end.





	1. Special Dreams | Pt. I

**Author's Note:**

> Frerard AU inspired by a shit ton of Placebo songs, featuring crossdresser!Frank and Gerard being a dick.
> 
> (Three part one-shot)
> 
> Soundtrack available on my Spotify account! @phantomxmolko  
> Also available on my Wattpad account! @stigmatasis

**_"Remember me through flash photography and screams; remember me, special dreams."_ **

**(PART I)**

⇀ **❁** ↼

**_July, 1996_ **

**THE NIGHT WAS**  old, the sun a few mere hours away from rising above the horizon. Gerard laid in the bed he shared with his boyfriend, Frank, the boy's hair splayed across Gerard's bare chest. His breathing was even and his face set into one of tranquility, though next to him, Gerard was wide awake, his chest rising and falling at odd rates as he rolled around an idea within his mind. His hands were folded behind his head, and Frank's were wrapped loosely around Gerard's waist. He sighed quietly to himself, the silence of the night bothering him as it seemed that even the crickets had given up chirping for the night. Moonlight shone in through the window, casting peculiar and somewhat fearsome shadows across the old, hardwood flooring in the small bedroom that smelled of sweat and cigarettes masked by the aroma of artificial vanilla.

He caught sight of the delicate, glass ashtray he'd gotten Frank for their three month anniversary. As a couple of stoners and heavy smokers, it was a fitting gift for the two of them to share, and still, two months later, the present sat perched on their dresser. He closed his eyes for a moment, contemplating all the decisions he'd ever made and considering if the one he'd been pondering over for the past two weeks would one day be added to the long and growing list of moves he'd regretted making. Though as time progressed, and a packed bag that had been hidden away in the back of the two's shared closet called his name, Gerard put himself first.

Frank's arms were soon untangled from Gerard's waist slowly and carefully so as to not awaken the sleeping boy. He stood and began walking toward the corner of the room, his feet getting slightly tangled in a dress that had been strewn across the floor. It was Frank's, a skimpy little thing that was worn only for nights spent clubbing. It started out as a joke that became a significant part of their foreplay, as Frank always felt more beautiful when wearing it, and he was quite the vision to behold. Gerard had found the article of clothing erotic and endearing, but now, he didn't smile at the memories the dress held; the heavy weight of dissatisfaction within his chest pulled the corners of his mouth down into a frown, nearly irrepressible even at the hands of the creature that was supposed to hold all of his love.

Gerard hadn't even spared him one last kiss, had barely even glanced at him as he pulled a shirt from the floor over his head and cautiously opened the closet door, the wood creaking slightly as it slid ajar. Reaching inside, Gerard's fingers closed over the handle of a full duffel bag, carefully pulling the item from it's hidden spot and slinging it over his shoulder.

He moved towards the dresser to grab the ashtray he'd bought, a quick afterthought that perhaps would spare Frank some pain, keep him from hurling it at the wall and cutting himself on the glass hours later. He glanced one last time at Frank; though he did care about him, it was only to a certain extent that couldn't match the dire need that burned within his chest. Gerard wasn't quite sure what love was, but he wholly believed in its power. Gerard was young, and though he may have once thought he loved Frank, he felt nothing strong enough in his heart to hold him back from what he was going to do.

Gerard pursed his lips in thought, and with soft eyes and a bit of apology, he blew Frank a kiss that he'd never be able to catch.

Gerard turned away and padded out of their no longer shared bedroom, as within the matter of a few moments, Gerard would no longer be there alongside Frank to occupy the space with him; however, Gerard truly hoped that Frank found someone else, and soon, because Frank was good, Frank was loving. He deserved someone who would love him with the great intensity that he himself loved Gerard. He deserved someone who would not leave him, rob him, and steal his ashtray in the middle of the night. Gerard wasn't ready to be either of those people.

He  _was,_  however, ready to pursue his dreams, and Frank just didn't fit in with that picture. The weight of his dissatisfaction with himself and the future this life had in store for him was far too great to bear any longer, and he needed this more than he needed Frank. Gerard took one last look at the virtually barren walls of the apartment he and Frank had invested in together. Rent was cheap, and Frank worked at a local diner that paid decently, so Gerard felt less guilty as he went into the linen closet in the compact living room that had a hidden metal box sat at the bottom and emptied it of its contents. He shoved a couple hundred dollars into the pocket of his sweatpants that he hadn't changed out of.

In the corner of the living room stood Mazzy, Gerard's old guitar that he couldn't play as well as Frank could. She was packed carefully away in her case, and though she would never be able to accompany him under spotlights (slow fingers, he argued), she could still stand back stage, Gerard's biggest fan. Holding her close to him, Gerard drifted from the room.

Gerard was calm as he entered the tiny kitchen that was only separated from the living room by a thin, cheap wall. He slipped on his sneakers, his hand brushing against the knob of the front door before a tender thought climbed into his mind. He closed his eyes and released a heavy breath. He trailed back a few steps, ripping a paper towel from the roll that sat on the counter and grabbing a sharpie from the drawer they threw all their random items in.

The note he left for Frank was short and concise, an apology thrown in there somewhere surrounded by words that Frank would wake up to and feel worthless because of, because for Gerard Way, Frank was not enough, despite the fact that Gerard was Frank's world and then some. Gerard didn't give it too much thought; he'd been thinking for months, and though he imagined things being a bit more dramatic and hard, it was growing increasingly easier for Gerard to leave, as the front door was so inviting.

It was one of the first decisions Gerard had made with his mind in a while rather than his body and the pleasure he could bring to it, simultaneously consumed by the worry that chased the wreckage that would follow in the wake of his footsteps out the door. The moment he realized that his end of the relationship had grown to be rooted more within sex, guilt, and a faulty hope rather than true love, it was as if he had already been gone, the shadow of his memory standing in substitute of his genuine affection.

Things were different, though he hid the fact from Frank well. Something had dissipated, and he'd never be able to tell if it was Frank himself or the sound of destiny knocking on his door; either way, neither Fate nor Frank could ever he cross with him, because after all, he was making himself happy-wasn't  _that_  what mattered most to them? In his mind, he was doing more good than bad by leaving if he couldn't even bother to tell Frank goodbye to his face; someone like that didn't need to stick around.

The paper towel was laid delicately on the small, round table that stood in the middle of the kitchen, and with that, Gerard was faced with the thought of stepping over the threshold once more. Gerard couldn't feel guilty for the glee that filled his chest as he left the apartment, locking the door behind him, because the decision he was making was for him, in the interest of his absolute happiness. Music made Gerard happy, and that was what he set out to make and share. Without this fame, this connection with strangers, this complete and total release of emotions across a spectrum of those similar to himself, Gerard would never be satisfied with life.

He shuffled down the long staircase away from what was no longer known as  _Frank-and-Gerard's-place,_  but simply Frank's apartment. The end of Belleville in which Gerard resided was not the safest place to be at half past four o'clock in the morning, though if the twenty-two-year-old were to be brutally murdered in the dead of night, it could at least be said of him that he died pursuing his dreams, even if he hadn't had that much of a head start.

His feet carried him in the direction of the bus stop. The first of the communal vehicles would soon arrive within the hour, opening its doors for those just finishing up the night shift and those who had just begun their day. For Gerard, though, this was the beginning of a new life, a new chapter in the book of Gerard Way. He just hoped that the world pushed aside any differences it had with him in that moment and let him have this, and he vowed to himself that once he got what he wanted, he'd do some good when the opportunity presented itself. Gerard was quite sure that life did not work in such ways, as in most stories, the reward comes later after hardships rather than initially, though he didn't give it much thought as the five o'clock bus rolled up, smoke billowing out of its exhaust pipe.

Once Gerard stepped foot on that bus, there was no turning back, and he acknowledged that with a fleeting sense of apprehension that was soon replaced with faint confidence and determination. Overall, Gerard was blanketed in an air of serenity, as he felt that what he was doing was for the best, and it was, though not for the reasons he had thought at the time.

Gerard seated himself towards the back, his head resting against the window and his duffel bag placed between his feet while Mazzy leaned against the seat in front of him. His hair fell in his face as he stared somewhat tiredly out of the thick glass. A muted feeling of excitement buzzed lightly within him, keeping him awake for the majority of an hour that rolled by as the sun slowly climbed into the sky, the moon sinking low behind the horizon. The powder blue sky was tinted with dusty pink, light orange, and pale lavender hues, and finally, Gerard's eyes fluttered shut.

⇀ **❁** ↼

**EARLY MORNING SUNLIGHT** trickled in through Frank Iero's bedroom window. He awoke slowly, his eyes cracking open as he immediately took notice of the absence of warmth from Gerard's side of the bed. Frank sat up and yawned loudly, stretching his arms over his head and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. A few moments passed as he collected himself, the grips of slumber still keeping a tight hold on his thoughts. When Frank considered himself fully awake (although, he was never truly there until he'd downed his early morning tea, a beverage he preferred to his counterpart's caffeinated drug, but he'd sometimes settle for coffee just to save time in the mornings), he swung his legs lightly over the side of their bed and called out Gerard's name, softly at first. After he earned no response, he angled his voice for a greater distance and padded from their room. His voice echoed throughout the empty apartment, bouncing off of the thin walls, and Frank was met with nothing more than the sound of his own words resonating between rooms.

The initial fleeting paranoia that was to be expected in such situations came and went while Frank posed many different routes of thought in his mind, as most lovers often do when their partner has disappeared without a trace. He warily settled on the possibility that Gerard had simply slipped out for a while, and somewhere around the apartment was bound to be a note with his whereabouts listed. Frank, though the slightest bit worried overall, had secretly hoped that he'd come home with some damn weed, because work had been rough lately and his nerves were frayed.

A slight sigh escaped Frank's pink lips and he trudged heavily into the kitchen, headed for the beloved coffee pot, planning to make a brew for his sweetheart. Gerard's mornings were always slow until he was sufficiently caffeinated, and Frank was sure that today was no exception.

Frank was off of work until three this afternoon, then he'd be in for a five hour shift. He didn't mind too much that he was the breadwinner of the relationship-he knew Gerard needed the time to work on his music, though lately, it had felt as if he had become more infatuated with the sound of his own voice than with Frank himself. While that stung, Frank could be nothing more than compassionate, caring, and understanding, just as any lover should be when supporting their paramour in their deepest endeavors.

He lazily drug himself to one of the few cabinets that inhabited the kitchen, though he stopped short just as his fingers brushed the half emptied bag of coffee grains. Something was amiss, and Frank noticed it immediately: Mazzy, Gerard's guitar, was missing from the corner of the living room. Frank's eyebrows pulled tightly together, and he grew more apprehensive and less assured than he was before, doubting that his boyfriend was just out on a quick drug run. He had yet to notice Gerard's note sitting on the kitchen table.

Frank vigorously shook his head, hoping to chase away all of his pessimistic and worrisome thoughts. He would not let his insecurities get the best of him today. He continued his previous task, retrieving the bag of grains and preparing the coffee to brew.

As Gerard's favorite beverage was slowly being made, Frank leaned against the counter in front of the sink, his arms behind him and supporting his weight. His bangs were caught in his eyelashes, and he flipped his head to the side. It was nearing time for a haircut, although Frank thought he liked the feel of his hair at his shoulders. Gerard's hair was growing considerably long, as well. Frank made a mental note to remind Gerard to make an appointment when he got home.

_If he ever comes back,_ a voice within him said. He shook his head again at the thought, imagining a little man falling from his ear and trying to scamper away. Frank would catch him, keep him in a tiny jar, and put his sorrow on display for all to see. Outside of himself, the tiny man could never bring him down again. Frank was disheartened at knowing that pain was in his veins and would never leave until the day his heart stopped fueling them.

The thought of his boyfriend drifted back to his mind, replacing the image of dwarf-like monsters in his skull. Frank began to grow nervous again. There was no pushing away the anxiety he felt, not when he loved Gerard this much.

It was then that his eyes caught sight of a paper towel with thick, black ink scrawled on its surface resting on the kitchen table. Having an idea as to what it was, he moved to pick it up, noting that it was written in Gerard's hand. He wore a soft smile as he looked upon the note, his fear melting away at the thought that  _yes,_  he had left a note, and surely he'll be back soon.

_Because he loves me,_  Frank mentally added.  _He'll always come back._

Frank didn't know that Gerard wouldn't come home today-how could he? What he also didn't know was that Gerard wouldn't stay gone forever, but then again, neither did Gerard himself.

Frank began reading, and the smile he had quickly drooped into a frown at the words he held in hand. The sweet pricking of tears glazed his eyes, and he felt himself begin to tremble.

It was a jumble of words, sweet nothings, and encased within them was something just short of an apology, though Frank could tell it was an empty one at best. This was his goodbye, a farewell, a  _sorry-not-sorry!,_  and it was the undoing of Frank. His heart fell within his chest, cracking and splintering into the tiniest of shards as his eyes raked over one of the last pieces of evidence to Gerard's very existence, left behind as a tender afterthought that only showed Frank he wasn't worth the sweet kiss goodbye. In that moment, he was shattered-he was inadequate, not enough for the one who was surely more than enough for him, and Frank realized that all of the banter in his head had been correct.

He did not deserve Gerard Way.

Truly, he couldn't have had it any more twisted-it was Gerard that did not deserve Frank in this moment, this man that had completely crumbled at the hands of a fucking paper towel; however, with the great, gaping hole he felt within him that had seemed to rip mercilessly through his chest, Frank could not stop his anguish long enough to see this hard truth.

Frank was caught in an infinite silence, the whole world trapped in quiet. There was no sound of light music playing in the background as usual, no birds chirping, and of course, no sound of Gerard's lovely voice or amateurish sounds he elicited from Mazzy here and again emanating from the bedroom. The only audible noise was that of Frank's ragged breathing.

He staggered forward. The note was clutched to his chest. Frank, stunned and almost numb, moved carefully to the living room, slowly and heavily as if the concept of motion were completely foreign to his wary limbs. He sat himself on the old, worn couch that he and Gerard had spent countless times on. Frank thought back to these memories and realized that it had meant more to him than it did to the one that meant everything.

The endless quiet, deafening silence-it hollowed out Frank. It gave away no sign of life, no sign of existence, and no sign of Gerard. The whole world seemed devoid of being, and for a moment, Frank questioned if he was still breathing, realized he was, and then wished he wasn't. It was almost as if his lover had never existed-Frank had suddenly awoken from the sweetest dream ever gifted to man, and all that remained of this lucidity induced boy was memory.

But Gerard was more than a memory, and the stark smell of Gerard's specific brand of cigarettes and the letter Frank held in his hands was more than enough to cause him pain. The choking sound of a desperate and broken sob cut through the silence, and if anyone had been present, they would have cringed and retracted at the sorrowful sound that echoed throughout the tiny room. Then came the tears in a flood, an endless and angry deluge that would only stop on its own terms rather than by Frank's command.

He curled into a fetal position, his face hidden in his knees as his hair curtained the gruesome sight of his misery. He was foolish, blind, love-struck, young, and now, he was hurt, with a tendency to be drawn to everything he could not have. When he had met Gerard, had kissed him for the first time, he thought that perhaps for once in his short life, he was worthy of his desires. It was now that he realized how wrong he was, and on this couch, drowning in his own tears and reaching for the landline perched on the coffee table, he made a vow to himself: never again would mere infatuation enslave him, because the inevitable abandonment would tear him apart just as it was doing now. He couldn't handle that again. He could barely handle it now, which was why he sat there, prepared to dial his best friend, the only comfort he had left.

His fingers wrapped weakly around the telephone, and he punched in the number to his friend's comic book store, knowing where he'd be at this time of day. Three rings later, Ray answered with a forced cheerfulness, stating who the caller had reached and politely asking how he could assist them, though once he heard the sobs on the other end of the line and immediately knew it was Frank, he was unsure if he could help at all. Naturally, he frantically asked in a soothing voice if Frank was okay, and there was only one phrase the younger could utter-a phrase that had Ray closing up shop early and rushing to his friend's cheap apartment.

_"Ray,"_  Frank had said,  _"Gerard left me."_

And once it had been said, those three words that spelled  _end-of-life_  for Frank Iero, it was true, and he was destroyed.

 


	2. Sucker Love | Pt. II

_**"Vanish like a lipstick trace, it always blows me away. Every cloud is grey, with dreams of yesterday."** _

**(PART II)**

⇀ **❁** ↼

**_November,_ ** _**1998** _

**GERARD** **WAY SAT**  on the front porch step of his buddy's trailer, a lit cigarette in hand. Two years of work and strong ambition had come and gone, draining him dry until he had nothing left to offer, nothing more that he could possibly do to achieve this pipe dream he had squandered. In a bitterness that was nearly suffocating, he came to the solemn conclusion that this was not how Fate had intended for him to live.

There must have been another way, some way he could reach for the stars and land among them somewhere, bright lights and the blinding flashes of cameras aimed at him and one day his epitaph as the lights slowly faded. There had to be a path, perhaps not the one of least resistance that he'd hoped for, but a journey, nonetheless, that would have him singing the lyrics that saved lives outside of himself, surrounded by the notes that made an impact on something larger than life—the  _preservation_  of it—as they were each individually strummed.

He took a drag from his cigarette. This was not the way.

He exhaled, smoke billowing through the air as he closed his eyes and let the ashes of what was sure to be a nail in his coffin float along with the direction of the soft, chilly breeze. It was autumn, and the leaves had begun to change colors and crumble underfoot. Much like those leaves, Gerard felt crushed, yet somehow motivated still. Gerard was never one to think positively of a decision gone horribly wrong, but he knew that if he pestered the universe enough, it'd eventually grant him the opportunity to shine simply out of pure annoyance with his needy existence.

That was how people succeeded: by nursing a strongly overwhelming need to obtain their eventual happiness and satisfaction until it came to them. Gerard could do that, he thought, though it'd take a lot out of him, and maybe there wasn't enough of himself to give as sacrifice right now—wrong lineup, wrong people, wrong place, wrong time. All of it was wrong, even the message he hoped to convey, but he was going to find his opportunity and snatch it from the hands of Fate herself until he was heard, an unwavering chant of the anthem of all lonely hearts, a light among the vast darkness, an undying hope. This was his dream, and he'd do all that he could to make it happen.

So Gerard decided to start back at square one, thinking back to the day when he began his journey. His things were already packed and put away in his car, which was parked next to the tree that stood alone in the front yard. (He'd landed himself a day-job and managed to convince his parents to mail him a large sum or two to  _'facilitate his dreams',_ as he so charmingly phrased. The fund went straight to a vehicle, because after all, a man's freedom came with a fresh set of wheels, or in this case, a worn set of mismatched tires on a used car plagued with the eternal scent of stale cigarettes and stained with peculiar hues that he didn't quite want to ponder.)

He found himself sliding into the driver's side, though not before leaving a note taped to the front door—it was written on a paper towel, and he was reminded of the pain he had left behind that would likely still be waiting for him, hidden under forced routines and painful recovery, if he knew his old boyfriend well enough. He still flicked his cigarette to the ground, though, and backed carefully out of the dirt driveway, headed towards one place and one place only—a location that he needed no map for, as its direction would always be permanently etched down into the very core of his being, no matter where he went: Belleville, New Jersey.

He wasn't quite sure what he expected to do with himself upon his arrival in his own hometown, and maybe he should have thought it through and decided on a different location, but he'd been told that home is where the heart is, and he knew his heart wasn't here. So, he was going to look for it, retracing his steps, starting back at stage one, and shedding everything he knew to become raw and vulnerable to the world and learn its many lessons. Still, solved overall hopes could not occupy a living, breathing vessel, and Gerard had to decide what to do with himself to last through the night. He'd crawl back to Frank if he hadn't known his boyfriend well enough to know that that was a horrible idea. Being Frank's high school friend for years before their relationship allowed him the time to study and observe the man, and he liked to think that he still knew his way around Frank's personality, body, and mind quite well. Of course, though, the impact he must have had with his abandonment surely had completely ruined Frank, leaving him shattered. Narcissism was not very becoming of Gerard, and he'd swear to you that he wasn't intentionally so.

All nervous doubts and vain assumptions aside, Gerard needed to return to the hearth of his dreams, even if things had changed since the last night he spent in Belleville. With the final toke of his cigarette, Gerard found himself backing out of the old dirt driveway, the butt falling from between his thin fingers into the dust as clouds of red and brown billowed around his vehicle. It was cold for midday, and Gerard, suddenly just the slightest bit morose, shut his window as the breeze entered his car. He felt the chill through his flesh, and it crept into the small but prominent cracks in his heart. For the first time in two years, he was remorseful over what he had left behind, the damage he had caused in someone he thought he cared for. It was perhaps the most genuine and deeply rooted notion he had felt in his time away, and it made his fingers and throat electric, a feeling that didn't come often. He glanced at dear Mazzy in the passenger seat, and he felt an ounce of Frank's sorrow for a few mere seconds before he pushed his own empathy back into the deep crevasse within his soul.

Perhaps the feelings had been born of fear—fear for the vicious anger that likely awaited him that very moment and was  _surely_ misdirected, but the shame that blew over him told him otherwise. He flipped down his visor, met with a photograph bearing the thumbprints of a sorry individual that had held it far more times than he'd care to admit. Inside, his chest bled misery.

⇀ **❁** ↼

**THE SHRILL SCREECH** of dinner bells and the incessant buzzing of evening chatter were the sounds of routine for one Frank Iero, an employee at the very same establishment he'd worked at two years back. He was a friendly and forward character, often requested by many regulars who desired him as their waiter rather than the usually snarky and uninterested few that Frank worked alongside. He was the sort to call every customer  _hon_ or  _sweetheart,_ batting his eyelashes with a sugary smile that raked in tips faster than the tight skirts and red lips of his co-workers ever could (though some nights, when his shift was very, very late, he liked to fool around in the dining area in the same attire as his female comrades, and his income was raised a considerable and flattering amount).

He spent his many waking hours bustling about his apartment in search of things to make himself look presentable for his many lines of poorly-paying work. He had lived alone for the last two years of his life. He'd admit that the quiet grew to be unsettling at times, but bitterly with a cigarette clamped between his unusually pink and sweet lips, he'd tell anyone that asked that he'd rather be surrounded by silence than the sounds of that  _man_  he'd allowed into his humble abode. Perhaps, though, he still had tears to shed, that much anyone with an ounce of compassion for love could tell—beneath the jaded surface he provided the public with, an armor of sorts with many scars that barred the way for any warrior seeking to conquer the pretty man's heart, there was an aching boy with a heart of corroded gold, still left to feel sub-par in comparison to the fantasies of the dreamer that almost loved him.

If no one else could see it (and they could, as Frank was not as cunning as he may have pretended to be), then Frank could feel it in his unconscious states of existence. It was a constricting feeling in his chest that told him  _no,_  this is not a dream, this is reality. What had left him in ruination for what felt like a lifetime was back, seemingly to finish what was started, to obliterate the weak and weary remains, by infiltrating all he knew. It was stood outside of Frank's apartment door at that very moment.

_Gerard Way._

And suddenly, Frank's eyes were wide like saucers and met with nothing but the cold, unforgiving ceiling, not nearly as beautiful as the faces in his dreams, but not nearly as destructive, at that.

He would dry his unwelcome tears and slip into something more becoming of him, as he felt that the salt water pain leaking from him could never compete with the way his favorite dresses hung over him.

That was the case on this solemn night, where an enticing gig down at the Plastic Venus called his name, but mostly his wallet, which had been feeling rather light lately. Frank's cheeks had been stained with tears during his rest before the show he'd planned, and he desperately wiped them away with a dainty handkerchief, an effect he kept around on his dresser and tucked in the bust of his stunning but few gowns.

With that, he stood, drifting about his bedroom that felt larger and larger every day without someone to share it with (ironic, he thought, as he and his former beau had often complained about the cramped space once upon a time; all lost in the abyss of painful memories he'd created to push it down even deeper). He'd picked quite the garb for the evening, a long gown that exposed the ink across his back and neck, shimmering with a deep red that would match the paint upon his lips by the time he was through.

What had started out as a laugh and eventually foreplay for a love-struck Frank had become a wise investment that repaid him kindly in the future. Since Gerard had left, Frank had taken to small shows in drag that seemed to hypnotize onlookers with the effeminate allure Frank was able to take on despite his physique and the strange sound of his voice, hardened by many a cigarette and made sweeter by an alcoholic beverage or two. His voice was quite the anomaly, far different on these bar stages than it would have been in a punk concert hall, but he made it work singing concerts of erotic musical ballads like his female compeers (he had to at the rate his bank account was dwindling).

So he made up his face, darkening and reshaping his brows after curling his lashes, enhancing the coloration of his face with many different powders that he'd grown familiar with over the course of two years. He painted his lips the color of a bleeding heart, broken and twisted like the one he possessed himself.

An hour or so passed him by, and now, doused in perfume that was the ultimate trap for any passerby and draped with a most beautiful gown that hung over curves he forced with an exaggerated jut of his hip for effect, he stood before a tall mirror leaned against the wall. He'd grown considerably thinner since Gerard had last seen him, not in a sickly manner, but in a way that made his once fairly masculine frame slighter and did him a favor for his side-profession of choice. He forced his most charming smile, hoping it'd lure cash from big spenders tonight so he'd be able to eat next week.

A vision dressed in red; he was pretty, beautiful even, though he'd never see it. He'd always felt that heartbreak was a wall between the eyes and a reflection; you'd never see how much better off you were without the one who hurt you, and you'd never see how much of a wreck you were alone. In this case, Frank never could see how lovely he was just in himself, and that was perhaps the greatest tragedy anyone like him could have been faced with.

A car horn sounded from the parking lot outside of the apartment complex. Frank assumed it was Ray, and quickly slid his silken handkerchief, embroidered with an  _'_ _M'_  for his stage persona, into the breast of his dress and slid on a large coat that nearly brushed his ankles, clad in the straps of his black heels that worked wonders on the audience, always. He lit a cigarette and stuck it carefully between his painted lips, hoping not to smear the pretty shade he'd smoothed over them. He tapped it against his makeshift ashtray made of tinfoil—it was nearing time he should buy a replacement to the gift that was stolen from him, but for the life of him, he never seemed to remember until it was far too late at night to go out and acquire one (but perhaps that was because he felt that buying that small object was a sign that he'd moved on, and he wasn't quite ready for that).

Frank stood before his front door, twisting the knob and exiting, locking it behind him. He stared up at the darkened sky, the moon outshining every star in all its midnight glory. Frank had pocketed his dwindling pack of smokes, contemplating lighting another as he descended the staircase carefully to the parking lot, taking great care not to trip and snap his neck in his bold choice of footwear. He would have lit one had he not been so taken with the moon that night, wonder in his eyes as he mused over who may be gazing up at it like himself so late in the hour.

⇀ **❁** ↼

**A KNOCK UPON**  Mikey Way's door was strangely uncommon, as most skirted past his humble abode without a second thought, even the door-to-door salesmen, and ever since his brother left town without a word to anyone, he'd heard nothing from him or from their old friends. After a bitter phone call from Frank, who begged of Mikey to indulge him in the whereabouts of his once-lover, Mikey closed up his windows and doors to all that passed him by. When Mikey's response mirrored the pain and confusion which had struck Frank early that morning so long ago, they knew they had both been betrayed by the constant star that catered to the both of them so kindly once before.

Had Frank been the one faced with that peculiar rapping at his door, he would have opened it and been flooded with absolute contempt and heartbreak. Perhaps Frank would have been even more wounded to know that it was not his door that had been called upon, but Mikey's, and before that door stood a sight for sore eyes, his hair lighter than it had been two years ago and hacked away at poorly, the ends varying lengths and stubble sprouting across his face.

Gerard stood idly, feeling the sear from Mikey's gaze burning into his flesh as the boy stared at him through his glasses, sure that is was a hallucination borne of his longing for companionship. Uncomfortable moments of scrutiny passed them by as they each took the other in, a sort of pride swelling in Gerard's chest at how well kept and clean Mikey and his home (from what he could see from the door) appeared. Of course, Mikey always knew how to take care of himself better than his brother, that much could be evaluated just from looking at the two in comparison.

Gerard's throat was dry as he spoke.  _"Hey,"_  he uttered lightly, a word that flew in upon the wings of a dove carrying an olive branch, slipping from his mouth as he awaited a reply from his little brother, who was not as little as Gerard had liked to think he was.

Mikey swallowed hard and widened his door, jaw clenched tightly though his heart was drowning in a deluge of forgiveness, a clemency that guided his hand to Gerard's shoulder as he lead him inside. "It's been too long, Gee," he said, and it was a thought that often attacked Mikey in his constant reverie. It was a place in his lonesome world where he'd never lost the rapport and camaraderie he solemnly sought now, but sadly, he was allergic to the good times and the outsiders that offered themselves up after his abandonment to actively insert himself into society.

"Yeah, it has . . ." Gerard rasped, unsure of himself and the state of disrepair his relationship with his brother had been spiraling into for the past two years. Guilt bubbled up from the pit of his gut and festered in his throat, flooding his mouth with a poison that tempted his weak tongue to speak, any words would do. At a loss, Gerard opted for an apology.

"Look, Mikey—"

"It's okay."

Gerard was cut off by Mikey's immediate reprieve of his hurtful actions. With a slack jaw and a cloud of confusion at the forefront of his mind that exposed itself across his features, Gerard did not need to verbally question Mikey's quick pardon, though he wasn't sure he would want to anyhow, as he was gracious, nevertheless.

Still, he spoke, voice gruff and low, but small, as if he'd felt shame where he once felt pride, and perhaps he did.

"Why?" he inquired, Mikey quicker to forgive him than he was to forgive himself. Had he married the stage and the lights and come back sold to a life of fortune and fame, he expected everyone's anger and sorrow to dissipate into pride; it was illogical, but hope had an alluring way of fucking over good people.

Mikey looked up from the floor and right through Gerard, his vision landing upon a small heart, shrunken down by self-interest, shining with a golden sadness that was corroded in dark veins of ignored regrets and sunken culpability.

"Because you're my big brother."

Mikey smiled, a charmed and minute gesture that parted the fog residing behind Gerard's cranium and offered him redemption. Returning the sentiment, Gerard appreciatively accepted the white flag thrown at his feet.

The air around them changed drastically, Mikey offering up his couch in exchange for just one conversation and a beer in his kitchen. Gerard would have downed a million toxic beverages if only he could share a few words with his brother one last time before Death wrapped its frozen hands around his throat and forced out his soul with his final exhale.

Mikey pulled out twin chairs for the two to seat themselves in, opening his relatively barren fridge and retrieving a pair of drinks for them to converse over. He set the long-necked bottles atop his round table and leaned back in his chair, whereas Gerard sat hunched over the table, propping himself up with his elbows. Cracking his open, Mikey took a light sip and sighed in contentment.

"So, how are you?"

Gerard sucked in a breath and took a swig of his drink, the bitter tickle of the alcohol bubbling in his mouth soothing him ever so slightly, as he'd come to know the feeling quite well the older he became.

"Not how I expected I'd be right about now," he admitted, his spirit dampened. He carded a hand through his hair and Mikey carefully examined his brother.

His shoulders hung lower, his hair was unkempt, his clothes were baggy and smelled of grass and cigarettes—he looked tired. Mikey pitied him and his regrets despite his own anguish, almost wishing that Gerard would have came back with stars in his eyes and deep pockets that he'd utilize of to cover up his mistakes. Perhaps then he wouldn't have appeared so lifeless.

The two were at a loss for words in spite of all their time apart, but the silence was a comforting one that soothed Gerard's mind, clouded by light alcohol. Gerard reached in his pocket and brought a cigarette to his lips, lighting it carefully and blowing a smokey kiss towards the ceiling.

Mikey caught sight of his brother's blank stare and swallowed, casting his gaze downward and wetting his lips. Taking off his glasses, he ran a hand over his face, almost as tired as Gerard. Suddenly, he stood, pushing his chair back with an obnoxious screech and hoping he successfully avoided scuffing the floors.

"C'mon," he said to Gerard, motioning for him to rise. Gerard sent him an inquisitive look.

Mikey grabbed his coat, a worn piece of clothing that rested in a heap upon his counter. He tossed Gerard a loose smile as he stood to follow him.

"It's your first night back. Let's go celebrate."


	3. Summer's Gone | Pt. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a sick Christian Death reference in this part and that's probably the best aspect of this piece in its entirety.

_**"Sing for your lover who's waiting at home."** _

**(PART III)**

⇀ **❁** ↼

 **RAY'S** **CAR HAPPENED** upon the small establishment fairly quickly, Frank in tow, who draped his coat across his delicate and inked arm as he stared in wonder at the bright lights above through the dingy passenger window.  _Plastic Venus,_ a familiar sight that he'd burned into the backs of his eyelids and dreamed of many a night, recalling a time he'd come here at the arm of a heartthrob that probably wouldn't dare show his face among the riffraff of places like these anymore _._  He gave Ray a quick thanks and scuttled inside, catching the curious eyes and raised brows of various onlookers as they took in his bold appearance. He moved smoothly between the individuals in the crowd with his chin raised and his gaze carefully trained away from anyone who may have wanted to steal his attention.

The air was heavy, nearly suffocating, weighed down by the stench of cheap perfume and even cheaper alcohol, accompanied by a particularly foul smell that Frank seemed to catch a whiff of at all bars. Perhaps it was the scent of despair radiating off the backs of everyone turned at the bar, maybe even regret as they stood to leave with someone that wasn't who they had left at home. Frank ultimately decided that it emanated from the sticky floor, where the heels of his shoes clung, likely due to a number of bodily excretions that had found their way there and did not find their way out.

Frank's nose scrunched up at the thought, and his slight disgust lead him to the bar. From there, he ordered a drink, crossing his legs as he swept his gaze over the crowd. It was a sizable congregation, though considerably smaller than he had anticipated. That quelled his nerves to some extent, though he figured he'd better down a few more drinks for good measure.

Frank waved the bartender over with a dainty flip of his hand, a forced albeit charming smile aimed at the man. He was a meek creature and wore a welcoming grin with the carriage that he perhaps tried to ignore the immorality that crept along each corner of the establishment. He did not appear to Frank as being the type to resort to this profession, though he kept that to himself, lacking the energy to wrap the flirty and self-assured aura about his being that he often wore around these crowds to even bother to ask.

Frank called out to him over the din, ordering a light drink. The man obliged, sliding Frank his beverage and pausing, his dark hair framing his face sweetly as he gazed earnestly at Frank with curious eyes.

 _"So uh,_  are you the entertainment?" he questioned timidly. Frank held back a chuckle, smiling in amusement.

He pretended to scoff, his voice taking an uppity, posh tone as he stuck his nose in the air. "As if  _I_  would ever perform  _here."_ He rolled his eyes and gestured to the less-than-clean area around him, lips pulled in a winsome pout that seemed to fluster the man who turned his blushing face to the floor.

 _"What's so bad about it?"_  a third voice chimed, mocking offense. Recognizing the voice, Frank turned with a genuine smile to greet an old friend.

"Brian, good to see you," he said amiably.

"Ah, Miss Mazzy, wish I could say the same," the man joked, his lips shimmering lilac under lights overhead. Brian Molko was the owner of the Plastic Venus, a place Frank frequented often after Gerard had left him, hoping to recapture some of the thrill he'd abandoned when he'd been left high and dry. Brian had recalled that pretty face, but alas, no lover to behold, and with sympathy in his heart, he offered a time slot to Frank.

Much to Brian's surprise, the creature that arrived was no longer a man named Frank, but a charming entity by the name of Miss Mazzy with looks that beckoned the lust and attention of all in the swarm of milling nobodies. Noting the despondency that hung around Frank, nearly tangible and putting a spike in Brian's own mood that threatened to tug forth tears, Brian offered him a job, knowing all too well of the extremities of heartbreak and abandonment. With a small smile, Brian placed a quick and friendly kiss upon Frank's cheek in greeting.

"You should really do something about these floors, Bri," Frank quipped, a large smile growing over his face. Brian chuckled.

"And  _you_  should do something about these dead ends." Brian carded a hand through Frank's dark and silky hair, soft and fine. He met Frank's eyes, offering him reassurance, as he knew that Frank sometimes grew nervous before a performance.

"You ready?" he asked. Frank nodded, though he couldn't be sure, still reeling from the dream or nightmare—he could never discern one from the other with Gerard in question. He still smiled, though, and promised with his eyes to give it his best though the throb that persisted within at the thought of one disyllable was still strong. He placed a hand over his chest, hovering over the racing of his heart, and prayed that he'd remain steadfast and determined for a friend that had been by his side and kept a warm meal in his belly thanks to these gigs.

Brian grinned at him. "Good. I trust that you'll put on a stellar show for these old saps. Now go knock 'em dead and tell them who you are." Brian wrapped his spindly arms around Frank and squeezed him to his chest, feeling the part of a younger brother heartening his hero of an elder sibling—perhaps big brother was a bit broken, but Brian was sure the fissures in his heart would heal up nicely once Frank realized his own worth when away from the arm of a man he was meant to be loved by.

Frank nodded, offering a tight lipped smile before slipping off of his stool, his drink abandoned on the counter where the bartender soon swiped it, staring after Frank with his heart in his eyes and a bashful smile painting his lips. Frank wove through the mass of people as smoke, a devilishly alluring miasma that seemed to infiltrate the lungs of onlookers and suffocate them with the sight of unmistakable beauty.

One foot in front of the other, Miss Mazzy strode deliberately, a slow pace that had the crowd entranced. Their eyes followed the creature to the stage, lights bursting into life and shining upon gloriously inked skin. An angel, no doubt, a heavenly seraph sent to indulge the world in God's talents in craftsmanship, as He'd surely spared no detail in that face, that body, those eyes that sparkled in an ethereal way that suggested that the entity was only vaguely aware of the hypnotic spell that had befallen the horde of mere mortals.

At least, those were Gerard's thoughts as he failed to recognize the glowing countenance for all the beauty it beheld, instantly wrought with desire and feeling all too exposed in the swarms of bodies. When the wires in his mind sparked into realization, it seemed they'd set his insides alight, and it was all he could do not to cry out.

_Frank._

Though for the life of him, he couldn't quite place why his chest ached so badly, as it didn't feel like the weight of inevitable guilt or the breath of nostalgia flailing about the space between his skull and brain like a butterfly with clipped wings. Thrumming away against his ribs where he supposed his heart would be, there writhed a feeling he'd pushed away, never quite identified though he knew it pulsated softly when he flipped down the visor of his car on the driver's side and saw that photograph he'd taken of Frank and himself. Never knew why he kept it, figured he should have set fire to it upon discovering it tucked safely there where he could always turn to it. It held his gaze, and as he viewed Frank standing in faux confidence on the stage, his mind drifted back to it.

A man Gerard vaguely recognized as the owner of the establishment introduced a Miss Mazzy, a name that sent a surge of electric yearning through Gerard's chest, and suddenly, he heard a voice.

It almost didn't sound like Frank for a moment, soft and gentle, wistful and lacking of contempt and malice as he felt he'd see the next time he encountered one Frank Iero. But his lips moved in time to that sultry tune, and Gerard recognized it as sounding familiar to another him that existed in a perpetual three in the morning with his head on Frank's chest. A soothing voice of comfort put to a sorrowful melody, reflecting on forsaken faces and eyes that stung, rang with a gloomy yet mesmerizing tone, and all at once, Gerard felt at home.

But Gerard had developed a habit for abandonment, and though he begged with himself to pause, to wait until the last note flew from Frank's lips and caught him by his shirt collar, he couldn't stop the movement of his legs. He shuffled out the backdoor, passing the owner at some point who seemed to look at him with confusion and almost recognition, though Gerard didn't linger long enough to see his eyes widen in realization—he had to escape the sickly sweet atmosphere that sent spike after spike spiraling into the spaces between each rib.

And then, the door was closed behind him, and silence encased him in an uncomfortable envelope, making him wish he could rush back to his seat and crawl inside Frank's voice to live forever. Suddenly, his aspirations did not seem so bright and mighty, but thin and empty, and what he was to do with that revelation, he was unsure of. Gerard, releasing a breath that had been held captive in his lungs for far too long, glanced up at the moon, staring her down and pleading for the quiet to go away.

⇀ **❁** ↼

 **GERARD** **WALKED A**  very long way, a thirty minute trek that would have taken him a third of the time by vehicle, but he needed something, a particular item he'd stolen under a set of stars that looked almost identical to the ones hanging over his head now. He thought, long and hard, but couldn't seem to stray from tangents and random memories from childhood, couldn't focus on much besides getting to his car, he  _needed_  to get to his car.

He rubbed a tired hand over his face, his muscles taut and stiff and his head buzzing slightly with the light alcohol consumption that had taken place between Mikey's kitchen and the Plastic Venus. He lost count of the number of times he sighed in distress, feeling more like a Paris than a Romeo—little room to make an impression on his Juliet, though he'd soon find the edge of a blade buried in his gut if he didn't reach the damn car  _(metaphorically,_  he lied).

When he finally arrived, he was sure it was far too late for romantics and he'd regret them in the morning, but with his key jammed in the ignition and his heart feeling resolute, he peeled out of his brother's driveway and took the route known by heart to his destination.

He hummed softly on the way, a song that he couldn't quite remember the title of, he just knew somewhere that Frank liked it. He recalled driving along these roads to his previous residence, shared with such a beautiful little thing, coming back into Frank's arms after a visit with Mikey. Perhaps it was slight intoxication or the invincibility and brutal honesty that came with early mornings, but Gerard thought to himself that he was an idiot to pass it up, completely and utterly  _stupid_  to grow tired of it (his words, of course).

The city lights made him feel bleary, almost mournful of the loss he'd felt as the past slipped away from him in a blinding sweep. It felt as if God had buried His knuckles into the depths of Gerard's stomach as, eleven minutes later, he came upon an old apartment building, still as shabby as he remembered. He winced as he thought of such a kindred spirit taking up residence in anything short of the luxurious abode he surely deserved, but he'd put him there, put both of them there, and Frank had stayed trapped in the overplayed memory.

He'd gotten where he needed to be, and from his armrest, he retrieved a little glass object. Miraculously, a pen and paper were found in the cracks between the seats after a few long moments of shoving his hand there blindly. Upon that slip of paper, Gerard scrawled a few words he hoped would mean something to someone out there, whoever found them first, but most of all, he hoped it took a needle and thread to the laceration created along Frank's chest at Gerard's sudden abandonment.

He soon found himself upon the stairs, then at the door, nose mere inches from the dirtied white wood. As he placed the fragile object on the doorstep, tiny note weighted down by it, he couldn't help but to stumble backwards, examining the door frame and lingering on a few cracks that had always been there accompanied by freshly made fractures creeping along the cheap material. His nostrils filled with a scent he could only label as the past, filling his head and turning his mind into a useless thing made of cotton that seemed to swell against his skull before he lurched forward and turned on his heel in the opposite direction.

Once more, as if he'd never came to be, Gerard was gone.

⇀ **❁** ↼

 **THE LIGHTS DIMMED,**  the fingers of each instrumentalist behind him stilled, and finally, his voice faded into the quiet. Frank eased his eyes open, and the force of a hundred adoring gazes struck him with astonishment and humility. He breathed a sigh of relief, muscles unwinding from their taut states and head feeling lighter, as if dreaming. He drifted off the stage, cheers and praises aimed at him, delivered in a drunken state that lessened their effects. His back caught the catcalls and floating kisses blown his way.

He caught sight of Brian, hovering in a corner near the bar, expression equally filled with pride and what appeared to be trepidation. Frank approached him slowly, beaming at him. Brian returned his wide smile and drew Frank into his embrace.

"Absolute perfection, love," he complimented dreamily, holding Frank's face in his hands. Frank graciously accepted the plaudit, but soon aimed to discover the root of Brian's apparent nervousness.

"Something's bothering you," Frank said, brows furrowed.

Brian bit his lip, looking around anxiously, before settling his gaze upon Frank's.

"Someone special came to see you tonight," he said vaguely. Frank immediately grew apprehensive—talent scouts? Absolutely not. Family? Unlikely. Employers? He sure as hell hoped not. Before Frank could further question Brian, the man hushed him with a delicate finger to his lips.

"Just go home and get some rest. You did a beautiful thing here tonight." Brian pulled his finger away from Frank's mouth, the thin digit stained with the faded red color painted across them. Meditative, Frank nodded and pulled away with a gracious smile, eyes wide with admiration for his close friend. Brian nodded at him and soon drifted away, appearing as an apparition to Frank as the man soon returned to the stage to introduce the next act. Frank exited the building, receiving excited glances and lustful appraisals all the way to Ray's vehicle, the engine humming softly.

Frank slid in next to Ray, casting him a kind, thankful glance as his friend happily greeted him.

"How'd it go?" Ray asked with genuine interest.

"Far better than expected," Frank answered thoughtfully.

Ray nodded at this, opting for silence as Frank stretched out in the seat and rose the volume of the radio by the knob. He rolled down the window and draped his wrist over the side, closing his eyes and musing to himself for a few minutes before Ray turned into the lot outside of his residence. At this, Frank sat up slowly, another vehicle that struck him with an overwhelming wave of emotion and fear rolling quickly in the opposite direction. Much to Frank's delight or disappointment (he couldn't decide which one), the night was far too dark for him to trust his eyes distinguishing any particular face through the open window, no matter how familiar the figure appeared to him. Ray noticed Frank's immediate shift in demeanor, sending him a questioning glance filled with concern.

"Hey man, you alright?"

Frank jolted, shaking his head as he registered Ray's inquiry. "Yeah, fine, just thought I saw a. . . a ghost."

"A ghost?" Ray chuckled. "You really have to stop drinking that shit Brian sells, I swear it's drugged."

Frank laughed along, masking the ache that burned and throbbed with each labored intake of breath. Ray parked the car and bid Frank a goodnight, complimenting his appearance and suggesting future plans. Frank nodded happily and sent him an earnest smile, looking forward to the rendezvous as he slid out of the vehicle. Heels in hand and bare feet chilled by the cool pavement, Frank trekked along to the apartment building, Ray waiting until he reached the top of the stairs to leave to ensure Frank's safety. He smiled softly to himself as towards his apartment, thankful for the few amount of people that offered him sanctuary in his hell.

He sighed softly to himself, a tiny man in his head prancing around gaily as he relished in the sorrow nipping at the mind he inhabited. Still disconcerted by the sight of such a familiar silhouette, Frank was tempted to strike his head against the door as he came upon it; whether the diminutive dwarf fell from his ear or he cracked his skull into a thousand tiny shards, Frank was sure he'd be more satisfied than he was presently.

Something glinted at his feet, a small, unremarkable object that Frank would have missed had he not been as observant. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes fell upon the petite glass article resting atop a slip of paper, the large and spidery sprawl specific to one ghostly entity in particular smiling disparagingly back at him with an unmistakable flair and undaunted nature. The image of Gerard casually pacing up the stairwell unnerved him, his shoes falling in the footsteps of Frank, who walked the same path each and every night feeling the weight of the world falling over him; Frank, who could not for the life of him get a wink of sleep at night all because he was being slowly unraveled by the thread that snaked itself around his heart and tethered him to Gerard's wrist; Frank, who remained steadfast and loving even as time passed him by with not so much as a second glance of sympathy for his sorrowful fate.  _Fuck,_ he could have screamed, snatched his hair from his scalp as he heard Ray's tires sputter in the gravel, recalling the sound of Gerard's own vehicle as he slipped away from him, stealthily with no apologies.

Eyes swelling with the sting of tears, Frank reached down, feeling his heart fall into his throat as he bent over to grasp the ashtray lying on his doorstep. He gingerly retrieved the note beneath it, carrying them both inside with an aching soul, endless amounts of pain he wished to make Gerard recompense for if ever he were given the chance to thrust his fist into the man's chest and pinch tiny holes in the organ he loathed.

He stumbled inside and threw his heels at the wall, leaving a dent he'd regret in the morning when he lifted his weary head from his pillow in shame and anguish. He sunk into a chair in the kitchen, placing the ashtray in the center of the table where the moonlight caught on its dingy glass. He wanted to sneer at it, throw it, too, at the wall, bury it and banish it into the fiery depths of the earth to fester alongside his bleeding heart; however, the corners of his lips betrayed him and lifted into a wistful smile as he looked at it and sniffed harshly.

He rubbed the corner of the note between his thumb and forefinger, in a daze as he thought that perhaps Gerard's fingers had touched that particular section of the paper, and in some desperate way, they were holding hands. Though his skin flared and felt as if it'd peel off and leave him, he could not bring himself to let go of the vision of their flesh brushing against one another.

He cast his eyes upon the words, choking back sobs of scorn and contempt as he prayed for good words, a genuine apology, or a clean break that would rid him of his misery and allow malice and fury to infiltrate his being and make him bitterly cold. Gerard's handwriting was rushed and messy, causing Frank's heart to fall with the thought that perhaps Gerard didn't think him worth the extra effort to make the letter legible.

But the words that trailed along the paper spoke otherwise, telling a two-sentence tale of yearning and regret that Frank was sure his past-lover had no means to facilitate, and yet, his heart suddenly screamed and his flesh stung with a roaring flame that overtook his entire being. He rubbed fiercely at his eyes, convinced that his tears had scrambled the meaning and had fooled him into finding a significant space reserved for himself somewhere in the labyrinth of Gerard's heart. He read it twice before it was carved forever into each rib surrounding his soulless heart suddenly rejuvenated and alive, beating erratically to the brink of an avid rupture.

 _I cry later in the aftermath of a thousand bullet-shaped kisses flying in on the wings of the dreams I had of a bright life without you before I realized that you are the dream. You always were._ _xoxog_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I created the idea for this over a year ago, and as time has progressed, it has changed remarkably into what it is now. This was one of the first ideas I was able to hold onto and give depth and meaning to. Originally titled Against the Grain, this piece has seen many alterations and has even been close to meeting its end before it began. I'm very proud to say that it's brought me out of a slump, and it holds a very special place in my heart. I hope it touches yours just as substantially.


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